


I love the smell of gasoline

by blueishdesire



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, Police, Porn with Feelings, drug dealers, that's probably not the best idea to even post it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueishdesire/pseuds/blueishdesire
Summary: Timothee is a drug-dealer caught red-handed. He can still get out of this pretty clear, he only needs to help police to find some bigger fish than himself. Locked, isolated he have time to think. And for other things too.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I don't know if anyone would be interested in that, but here it is. Enjoy if you can.

_“Everyone gets the devil he deserves.”_

**― Arturo Pérez-Reverte**

 

“It’s all about circumstances”

His pale fingers on the table, playing with the lighter, swinging between fore and middle finger.

“Is that your excuse?”

He chuckles. Feeling the muscles on his face contracting and his mind focuses on pain for a moment. The cuts and bruises are there. Clear and visible when he lifts his head to look at him and then past him, straight to one-way mirror. Dried blood above his right eyebrow, upright cut on his cheek. He still taste cooper in his mouth.

“So you’re willing to cooperate with us”

“Some battles are not mine to win”

And then it all started.


	2. Play with fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge part is just porn. Sorry!

_“But one never knows how the dice will fall, and they are always cast before anyone even notices.”_

― **Arturo Pérez-Reverte**

 

_2 months later_

          Cabin doors burst open with fierceness, but he doesn’t look at him. Remaining calm and quite. He has all time of the world.

“The rumours are spreading that you were yesterday at the airport” Armie’s voice sounds almost angry “Followed with good photos of yours. The golden chain is my favourite”

          Timmy chuckles finally looking at him, filled with strange affection towards this man.

“Big golden chains are not my type, you should know this by now”

Timmy moves from the window, crossing the room to sit on the couch, spreading legs in front of him, resting his hands on his belly, looking at Armie pleased with himself.

“That boy looks almost like you”

“Perhaps. But I believe it’s clear that I wasn’t there. I’m not risking to get shot straight in my forehead just to be seen for few seconds on the airport. And for the record I would never get dressed like him. Yeah I saw photos” he added as an explanation when Armie glanced at him oddly surprised

“Considering that for now you can’t be in two places at the same time, I think there’s nothing to explain. As to the clothes, I must say he had rather good shot at it”

Timmy laughs softly, his head falls backwards and rests on the couch. Long time ago he stopped wondering about people behaviour – even as strange as it could be

“Just for your information, I would go in my beautiful crowned skull hooded pink sweatshirt and simple grey sweatpants. And my black suitcase with my name on it. In quote marks”

“And your pants in socks”

“And my pants in socks”

“Yeah I can imagine that”

See. We all are weird.

 

* * *

 

 

          The first time Timmy asked about Armie’s kids, he was rewarded with angry and hateful look. Because apparently he shouldn’t get too confident with him. Seeing as he was semi-responsible Timmy was locked with dead sentence in the real world. That first time Armie calmly said that _“it’s not your fucking problem”_ , which only raised Timmy’s curiosity towards this issue.

          The second time Timmy raised the question was two weeks after they caught him and one week after they locked him in the cabin. He was bored and cooperating with closure was harder than he expected, it had more to do with isolation than with the fact he was no more his own man as to speak. Armie came later than usually and Timmy was simply angry about it. Because this fucking police officer was the only person he had any chance to interact with and sitting all day long, all by yourself was not the best option as he had this stupid tendency to overthinking. He was rambling before Armie shut the door behind him secluding them both from the world. The question slide from his tongue before he could even think about it. They were sitting on the couch. Armie on the one side and Timmy on the other end, Atlantic ocean between them. Timmy was eating some snack. Pistachios to be clear, his favourites ones and Armie was there looking at him somehow amused, as he put them one by one in his mouth and crushed shells with his teeth. Armie was drinking cold beer, usual habit after work, though he was rather hesitant firstly – seeing – as he was still working being here. When his question was out in the air, Timmy froze, small pistachios crumbs stuck in his teeth. To his astonishment Armie just shrugged and uttered that they’re fine, changing the subject. But for Timmy it was something. Something more than ‘ _fuck you, it’s not your business_ ’.

          The third time he asked him about his family was the time he most remembered. Standing in front of the window. Wearing a white shirt with all colours and shapes randomly placed matched with grey sweatpants. The shirt was full of daddy on the beach in 90s vibes and it was something incredibly soothing.

          Armie burst inside, his blond hair slightly wet from the rain, his body trembling with anger. Timmy looked at him leisurely, cherishing the view, having all time in the world. He took one dubious step backward, when Armie just crossed the room with few huge steps, standing in front of him and grabbing his shoulders in painful grip.

“Is everything fine with your family?” he asked quietly and uncertainly and he remembered the way as Armie’s eyes moved from his to stay on his chest, visible because he left 4 first buttons unbuttoned. He wanted to say something, but everything sound completely stupid and before he could decide, he heard Armie uttering something like ‘fuck it’ and he was pushed forward and their lips crashed in a kiss. It was angry kiss, mouths colliding, teeth clenching, tongues fighting for dominance. But then Timmy did something extremely unexpected and thoroughly stupid. He moved his hand from his side to brush it gently over Armie’s neck-hair, to find them soft and smooth between his fingers, to grab them, holding them tightly, deepening the kiss almost thoughtlessly. Armie moaned straight to his mouth, the sound reverberating in his insides, making him dizzy and full of unexpected lust.

          They ended up side by side on the couch, pants around their ankles, Timmy’s hand on Armie’s cock and Armie’s hand on Timmy’s cock, jerking frantically, pulling the climax from one another, moaning, hissing, panting. _Yes yes yes, don’t fucking stop. Good. That feels so good._

          Timmy came with silent fuck on his lips, head snapping backwards, his body trembling, white spurts of come covering Armie’s hand and his belly. Armie followed him soon enough, pushed to the edge because of Timmy frantic movements and exquisite warmness coating his hand. He bit his lip, relishing the sensation of Timmy’s slender fingers still moving up and down his shaft, when he was lying there in post-coital bliss. He came hard, moaning loudly, jerking his hips upwards, Timmy’s fingers still moving, still encircling the girth of hic cock, the pleasure rolling over him in tidal waves. To finally hiss, when Timmy’s thumb moved lightly over the tip of his now oversensitive cock and he slumped onto the couch pleased and exhausted with his eyes shut.

          Their first time was followed with unbearable awkwardness. Armie grabbing his pants, buttoning them with a rush, not even daring to look somewhere else than to the floor. Timmy biting his lips, attempting for nonchalance, with “it’s not a big deal” rolling on his tongue to say it as soon he has the chance. But he didn’t, because Armie left without a glance at him, shutting door behind himself that rebounded in the silence of the cabin with power.

          The second time the things happened between them, it’s hard to say even why. They stayed civil for exactly 3 days after the first episode, not even mentioning it as if it was a committed crime and they were hiding the killer. That time Timmy was standing in front of the table with his white tee shirt and sweater – soft, knitted by hand, pastel colours. That kind of sweater you would find vintage, but expensive, perhaps even stuck in the attic of your grandmother house, in the box covered in dust. He turned over his shoulders, to see Armie emerging from the small kitchen. Something strange flashed through his face, but Timmy didn’t have a chance to think about it. In the next second he found himself bend over the table, Armie’s huge hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him down. He hissed and then moaned, when he felt Armie’s hard-rock cock pressed against buttocks. He rested his hands on the table, allowing Armie to lean forward and kiss his neck, press his lips to earlobe and then bite it. He shivered, becoming pliant in warm hands, numbness slowly sipping into his mind until he becomes incoherent in words and actions.

          Armie pushed his hand past waistband of Timmy’s pants, gasping in surprise, finding him without any underwear. Just hard, throbbing cock, pushing against the fabric. And he lost it, gripping it tightly, stroking with fierceness on the edge of brutality. But Timmy didn’t resist, pushing himself backwards, melting in the heat of body behind him. Some part of his mind registered the sound of fly being unzipped, then fabric going down, brushing against his bare thigs. And then Armie  was moving his cock up and down, fucking his buttocks and the grip on his dick strengthened.

“Fuck. More” he groaned, his knees giving up, Armie’s arm around his waist becoming his only support

          His mind was screaming and he was feeling climax rising inside him, crushing just some seconds after when Armie moved his thumb slightly over the tip with harsh voice saying “Come. Now”

          The orgasm annihilating him. Floating through him from the tips of his hair to his curled toes. And just when the white noise in his ears faded, he felt warm spurts of come on his back. Armie panting and kissing his skin, making him shiver. They laid on the couch afterwards. Eating pistachio ice-creams. And it was good.

          The third time – well they supposed to fuck finally. But Timmy could see something in Armie’s eyes that always held him. Reminding him why he was closed in this cabin. Why he could only see Armie. And that he didn’t what to assume. So he should expect nothing. Getting laid didn’t change a thing between them. Timmy couldn’t tell if it was because Armie have a family. Supposedly happy one. He knew about wife and kids, he even saw their photos. Family photos. But he didn’t ask. It was not his business. And involving himself more in this even now shitty situation was not his best idea.

          It all happened at the end of second month. The night before he noticed the missing wedding-ring. He couldn’t tell it was that day exactly, he didn’t really paid attention to it. And he only spot the lack of it that day because well because Armie put the hand on his throat. Squeezing it, adding the precise amount of pressure, thumb moving around his Adam apple. He felt more the lack of it than seen it. And what that exactly said, he couldn’t tell.

          The rain was pouring from the sky, soaking everything it could find. Armie stepped inside. His clothes and hair wet. Droplets of water dripping down, falling to the floor. He was angry. His brows furrowed, his shoulders full with tension. Timmy wanted to ask 'what happened', but he'd already learnt his lesson. He didn't know why. Perhaps because he was locked more than for two months, perhaps because Armie was only person he could interact with. Perhaps it was this four shots of tequila he had earlier. Or perhaps - and about this Timmy would rather not to think of - he wanted Armie to feel good. But he stepped forward (in time he should wait) and pushed him until Armie's back hit the wall with audible pop. The surprise colouring his blue eyes, giving them a dark, almost stormy hue. He could see hunger there. Timmy liked that. He leaned and just like that shoved his tongue inside Armie's mouth. It was angry, it was harsh. It was everything they needed. Armie was transfixed for barely seconds, it was too much and after no time he was keenly responding to Timmy's eagerness. Taking control he turned them over, thrusting Timmy into the wall, catching the hem of Timmy's shirt between his fingers, tearing it in two pieces that just fell to the floor becoming now useless piece of fabric. He swirled his tongue around pink, tiny nipple. Timmy moaned, gripping Armie’s head, tugging his hair. They still haven’t fucked and Timmy was debating even now if they should. He did want that, those past days he couldn’t think of anything else. But this was something else. Something serious. He knew it would change their relationship. He was yearning for Armie. For his tanned, big hands on his back. His tongue on his mouth, on his collarbones, on his belly. On his cock. His fingers tucking his hair, in his belly button. Inside his pucker hole. He wanted to be fucked by Armie. And he wanted to fuck Armie. He wanted to finger him, stretch him, prepare him. He wanted all that and more. This _more_ was terrifying him the most.

          When Armie kneeled between his legs, he just stopped thinking about if it was right or wrong. He just wanted this to happen. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - huge, massive sorry for doing nothing with this story for months. My life got messed up, I moved out, there were always things more important than this and frankly - then I didn't really believe in my writing abilities. I think I still don't believe much in myself, but I know I'm better than I used to and that's progress.   
> Second of all - massive thank you for you Nick for writing a comment that made me think of this story, that led to finishing this chapter.   
> I wanted to post this earlier, but what I wrote wasn't saved by my pc, so I had to re-write it all again and I was sad and mad and I still don't think this version is better than previous one, but I'm still proud of it.  
> Thank you if you are here still

_“...the problem with words is that once spoken, they cannot find their way back to the speaker alone.”_

―  **Arturo Pérez-Reverte**

 

          It was after the second incident - the slight discomfort still between them - when Timmy asked if he was hungry, just to ease the tension. Although not sexual tension. Armie was more than surprised. Timmy "the drug dealer" Chalamet wasn't known of his abilities with cooking. More like how to sell bad quality meth to rich kids for the highest price. Or at least that was what Armie thought about the kid. The first time it was pasta. Not elaborate - the simple one with tomato sauce and grated cheese on top. Armie liked it because the sauce was smooth and not over-prepared. The second time it was steak. Perfectly cooked one with French fries and a simple salad. And Armie couldn’t tell if Timmy was doing all this for him (because he wanted to cook him something) or it had a hidden reason. And only if he would looked more carefully, more thoroughly he would see the truth lying there. Clear and visible.

          They were sitting at the opposite sides of the table, plates between them when Armie asked him boldly. Because he wanted to know. Because he needed this information. For himself mostly. Because maybe he could understand and by doing so it would make all difference. The urge to explain, to find an excuse for Timmy’s action was hard to shake off. 

“Why you started with drugs?”

One bite, then other. Chewing. Swallowing. Staring. 

“I’ve already told you. It’s all about circumstances” 

“Can you be more explicit? I’m only asking, I won’t use it against you. I’m just curious”

          Again. One bite, then other. Chewing. Swallowing. Staring. 

This was making Armie feel uncomfortable. More than he could expect. Why it was so hard for Timmy to open up? But Armie knew why. The whole situation was fucked-up. 

“I’ll tell you why drugs. But I want you to tell me something about your family. Your wife and kids”

          The bargain. The information held the price. The knowledge was the advantage in every world. Perhaps it was everything in this business. He couldn’t even blame Timmy that in his world every single thing wasn’t free. 

“Ok”

          It was a gamble. He’d learned a long time ago that you need to take risks. But you need to play with good cards. And always hold ace behind the cuff.

“Think more, I don’t want you to be disappointed at the end” he says, cutlery at either side of the plate, cut pieces of food still waiting

“I’m sure” Armie answers, his voice restrained and hard, his teeth clenched, words pouring from his tight-closed throat

          Timmy stills, considering his words for few more seconds, plate absently set aside. He looks at him again, straight in the eyes, piercing through him with his green irises. His gaze is hard, unrelenting. Armie gets a glimpse of this other Timmy, of this merciless, unyielding Timothée. 

“You want to know why drugs?!” he begins, his tone mocking like the question makes him laugh, the snarky beginning straightening Armie’s posture, body stiff and rigid instantly “I could tell you the story of an abused child, of small little boy craving touch, affection, and love. How he cried for his mom, how he hid to not be kicked around like a useless piece of rag. I could tell you about a teenage boy who was never taught what’s good and what’s bad, how he had to fight for every piece of food. Because it wasn’t about living, his whole world was spinning around only one thing.  _ Surviving _ . I could tell you about that guy, who grew up despite all adversities. The guy that chose a better-paid job, because he was sick of barely existing. I could tell you all the made up stories you are here for, sitting like the decent man you supposedly are just to calm down your conscience. I could gather all the cliches and wrap them all with red ribbon in a nice package with a bow on the top. All of that so you could go peacefully to your family, to kiss your wife and tell her you missed her without guilt burning your insides that you came from here after hours of fucking me mercilessly into the mattress. To wash out the pain in your guts every time you looked at your kids, wishing them good night, straightening their hair, this ache in you that bubbles under your skin, because you didn’t spend time with them. Just because you were here with me. You just want to have a reason to wash the blame of your shoulders, to convince yourself over and over again that you’re a decent human, isn’t it the reason deputy?! The shame and remorse that eats you piece by piece, cell by cell, so you want so badly to restore the balance, to find the ulterior motive that will keep your life together. So please tell me, deputy, how’s your wife, did you see her today or should I rather ask when was the last time you saw her”

          He isn’t thinking, not really, there’s just this urge prickling under his skin, bursting in his veins to put stop to this. There’s this rage, burning his stomach, making his body move on its own accord. He doesn’t register when his fist meets Timmy’s jaw, he just relishes the feeling of the skin to skin contact, his ears sinking in the pleasure of cracking sounds, his nostrils filling with the exquisite smell of blood. His vision whites, the rage consuming him, all the guilt, all the shame burning him, leaving just the ashes of life he once lived. 

          Minutes, hours or maybe just seconds after he registers that body underneath is limp, does not move, isn’t trying to fight him, just lays there as if taking the punishment without any words of complaint. He wants to give himself to that sensation, to be the executioner and spill the blood, to wash his hands afterward feeling the purifying effect of water on his skin. He doesn’t yield to that feeling, because as soon as he opens his eyes that were shut in fury, he sees that this body is still breathing, trembling under his weight. That distant sound, muffled by white noise buzzing in his ears, is the sound of that body trying to take air inside its lungs. His eyes seize the scene and he finally grasps what he’s done. That dark curl dampened with blood against the pale cheek will be forever engraved in his memory.

          He rolls to the side, coughing blood on the floor, wiping the palm of his hand gently over his upper lip. His head throbs with pain, his jawline fucking screams in agony, he bites the inside of his cheek to dull some of it. He needs painkillers and some ice. And he needs it now. 

          He opens his eyes, he wasn’t even aware he shut them, seeing Armie crunched few feet away. His knuckles bruised and skin cut, he’s panting not being able to fill his lungs fully, his body is shaking, but Timmy can’t really tell if it’s rage still pouring off of him or something else. Frankly, he doesn’t even care. He stands, shakily on his legs and even this small movement makes him dizzy, he grips the edge of the table hard, until the sensation fades. 

          He walks over to the kitchen, snatching Tequila bottle and swallowing 3 pills in one ago, his Adam apple bobbing, alcohol burning his mouth, sliding down his throat with struggle. He grips neck-bottle tightly, while he lays on the bed.

“Just go” he says, his voice small

Armie does and that’s his first mistake.

          The feelings are - in Timmy’s world - useless sensations making you weak, liable. You don’t understand much but you’d do everything for the person you love. This is your Achilles’ heel. Everyone has it. You just need to find it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm whatitis-inside on tumblr if you have any suggestions


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